The man who went

Having had is foot hurt during the war; "they" had been kind enough to let his friend run the shop. Not really asking of course if he wanted too. But there were no other jobs to be had and they knew it. They had used his friend and used their friendship to get what they wanted. So the two friends had given it to them, meeting now and then, exchanging the information needed. Just for the wish of a quiet life after it would all have been finished. All of a sudden though, when the two friends were beginning to get accustomed to the situation, they had been contacted and told not to meet anymore. Too dangerous. A large sum of money was transferred to their accounts through an unknown lawyer office. But they were both told, that if they did meet again, there would be no guarantee for their security. From then on, there had been no more visits in the countryside. No more contact with "them" except for once, when he had gone to visit his old friend in the bookshop, just as a normal friend. Coming out from the shop, after a nice cup of tea and a long talk, a big black car had driven up next to him, halting with squeaking tires. One of the men from his visits in the countryside had rolled down the electric window and said, "We told you not come here again. If you don’t care for your own security, maybe you care for your friends’". Then, just as quick as the car had come, just as quickly it went away again, leaving the man standing with his mouth open, perplex, and with a sudden feeling of fear. Who knew better than he what they were able to? Then, without looking back, he quickly left the bookshop, knowing he would never see his friend again. Because if he did, his friend would die.

She had been wearing a bright yellow dress. She was a newcomer in town. That was for sure. One could hear the silent whisper of men and women, young and old turning and watching in their small-village narrow-minded way - "who is she? What does she want here? And look how she is dressed!" And then the hushed answers; "I saw her coming with the 9.30 bus, you know the one which brings the mail". That was what he loathed about this village - no one could come and go as he pleased. Everyone had to first go to the village pub, ask to speak to the owner and then, if he had asked properly, introduce him- or herself humbly and address the subject of his or her visit. Only then there would be some kind of acceptance in the village of the newcomer. But then again - wasn’t it for this security he had chosen this old village to go back to? That no one should come unannounced? But now when he saw their faces, eager for some kind of a scandal maybe or some new gossip he wished he would be somewhere else. Living in the anonymous city where no one cared who came and went with which bus or train.

He saw her from the bakery shop, where he was buying fresh rolls once a week. He had just paid and taken his paper bag, turned around and from the small of his eye seen something bright yellow. He quickly looked up and looked right into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stopped. And he kept staring at her.